Back when I was a kid, Blogs were called 'imaginary friends' and were only slightly more pathetic.

Sunday, November 07, 2004

SFist reprint


Staggering Through Fog, a weekly attempt at fighting off the shakes long enough to relay valuable information about the San Francisco bar scene. By Andrew Lowder.

In a recent interview, 41 year old superstar DJ Norman 'Fatboy Slim' Cook credited his overall good health and success to booze. During each and every one of the hundreds of DJ sets he's done over the years, he imbibes a large jug of vodka and orange juice, which he credits with "giving him necessary vitamin C and preserves his insides as if they were floating in formaldehyde". Is this irresponsible medical misinformation? A desperate attempt to justify an alcohol abuse problem? Just plain hooey? Not so fast College Boy...

The bartender at this week's place is perhaps the best living proof we've ever seen that this theory of preservation might have some merit. For 8 years, and I'm sure many more elsewhere that we're unaware of, this drink-slinger has been barely able to stand up, but completely able to dispense quality beer and spirits. He remains so unchanged over the years that we sometimes think he's a robot, but who would make a drunk robot with a thick Scottish brogue?

The 500 Club is the old stalwart of the Mission district bar scene, and Jerry, the old bitter scotsman pouring the drinks most days, is a freak of nature. No matter how many times we've walked through the front door expecting Jerry's liver to be holding innocent bystanders hostage, we walk in and he's exactly the same, which is to say drunk and unruly. I suppose expecting anything different would be like walking into the Louvre thinking maybe they've replaced the Mona Lisa with a tapestry of Dogs Playing Poker. Don't be scared off, however. As drunk as Jerry gets, and believe me, he gets loaded, he never gets really angry. Oh sure, he'll call you every name in the book, threaten to throw you out and hold a broken beer bottle to your neck, but that's just the Scottish way of saying 'Hello'. Give him a frightened smile for a few seconds, tip him well, and he'll be distracted away soon enough. Most likely by the tap he left on when he poured your Pabst.

So take your inflated sense of self-esteem down to the 500. You'll leave with some much needed humility and possibly live longer due to the preserving powers of alcohol!

Liver...Out!!

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1 comments:

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